


Context is Everything

by thedevilchicken



Category: Hannibal (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Backstory, Coercion, Dark, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Violence, Therapy, Therapy doesn't work like this, Therapy shouldn't work like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23841634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Bucky has a new therapist. This goes about as well as you'd imagine.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43
Collections: What Fen Do (Instead of Going Outside)





	Context is Everything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seinmit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seinmit/gifts).



Hannibal knows that the same group - HYDRA - is responsible for Bucky Barnes as is responsible for his sister. That should make them kindred spirits of sorts, he supposes. That should provide the impetus required for him to treat him as a patient, not a project. But when he walked into the room for their first session, economical of movement and fastidiously punctual, he understood that _should_ meant very little. 

"You must learn to recontextualize, Mr. Barnes," he told him, toward the end of that first hour. 

Hannibal sat easily in his usual seat, with his legs crossed at the knee and his hands folded; Bucky sat bolt upright in his own seat, with both feet flat to the floor and both hands to the chair's arms. Hannibal has treated a number of military veterans in the course of his career and has seen how some sit, as if ready to respond - Bucky Barnes, on the other hand, seemed ready to provoke that response. He seemed poised, though he also seemed entirely ignorant of it.

"I don't understand," Bucky replied. "Recontextualize?" 

"Your memories of HYDRA seem...distant," Hannibal said. "The way you speak about them is as if they happened to someone else. In order to process your trauma, you must understand that they happened to _you_."

Bucky nodded. "I guess that makes sense," he said. He stood, as his posture said he'd wanted to for the entirety of their session together. He looked tense as he tucked his long hair back behind his ears and then tucked his metal hand behind his back, as if he didn't like it being seen. "Same time next week?"

"I might recommend sooner. Shall we say Wednesday?"

He smiled tightly. "Sure. Wednesday." He did not seem sure about Wednesday.

Hannibal watched him go, and then he wrote up his notes. He had a few ideas in mind for Bucky Barnes' treatment. 

During their second session, he asked Bucky to recount a memory from before his time with HYDRA. What he chose was quite revealing: he went back to a time before the war had started, to New York City, to a night out with his now rather famous friend. Hannibal asked him to close his eyes and tell him what he saw, and what he smelled and heard and felt; he told him about the smell of popcorn on the air and how the beer had tasted different then, and how Steve always hated it when he dragged him out on double dates, except he'd kept on trying anyway, right up until he'd deployed. 

During their third session, Hannibal asked Bucky to recount a memory from after his time with HYDRA. What he chose was similarly revealing: he took a trip to Wakanda, to a day in the city spent with his friend. Hannibal asked him to close his eyes and tell him all about the sensations of that day; he told him about the smell of street food and the sun on his skin, and how Steve's shoulder bumping his as they walked felt different now that he was nearly a whole foot broader as well as just taller. 

"Do you see Captain Rogers often?" Hannibal asked. 

"He's pretty busy," Bucky replied. 

"That sounds like _no_ , Mr. Barnes."

"You should maybe call me Bucky."

"You should maybe stop deflecting." 

Bucky nodded. "You got me, Doc," he said, and he gripped the chair arms tightly. "I don't see him often, no."

"And he's the only link to your past you have remaining. You would like to see more of him." 

Bucky nodded again. He shrugged. "Yeah. I guess that's right." 

Hannibal made a note. He wondered how he might use that. 

During their fourth session, Hannibal asked Bucky to recount a memory from during his time with HYDRA. When he closed his eyes, he gripped the chair again. 

"The mark was in a room at the end of a long corridor," Bucky said. "The orders were clear. The soldier had to infiltrate the base, complete the assignment, and return to the extraction point." 

And Hannibal said, " _Recontextualize_ , Mr. Barnes. This happened to _you_ , not to the Winter Soldier." 

Bucky took a shallow breath, just into his chest, as if he was suddenly too tense to breathe in more deeply. "I could feel his neck in my hands," he said. "He was looking at me. His eyes were blue, and then they started getting bloody. Y'know, vessels started bursting. I was gripping really tight. He kicked. I think I had bruises after, but maybe not for long. And he...people forget you lose control of your insides when you die. It's a mess. I always hated that part."

"Not the killing?"

"I didn't feel a lot about that part." He frowned. "Should I?"

Hannibal smiled mildly. He pressed his palms together. "I think that's a question for another day, Mr. Barnes," he said. "Our time is up." But the look on Bucky's face said he would take that question with him. 

During their fifth session, Hannibal asked him to recount a memory from during his time with HYDRA. He asked for a time that he was made to feel something, and Bucky winced. He looked away across the room, at the variety of decorations whose primary purpose was not exactly to put Hannibal's patients at ease but rather to please him aesthetically. He found that the expression on Bucky's face as he gripped so tightly at the chair that it began to creak also pleased him aesthetically. 

"They weren't meant to play with the soldier," he said. His mouth twisted wryly as he closed his eyes. "I know, _recontextualize_. They weren't meant to play with _me_ ," he corrected. "But I guess they did sometimes. I wasn't meant to feel things. Most of the time, I even didn't." 

"Go on, Mr. Barnes," Hannibal said. "You're doing very well."

Bucky grimaced. "They liked to hit me. I heal real fast so no one had to know when they were done. They told me not to hit back, so I didn't, and that seemed fine 'cause I was real good at taking orders. I don't know, maybe that's the Army in me." He smiled again, and opened his eyes to look at Hannibal just for a moment, as if seeking his approval. He neither offered nor denied that approval; he simply nodded, and Bucky seemed encouraged. He closed his eyes again.

"Sometimes they kicked me down," he said, during their sixth session. "The lab had this cement floor and I'd bleed on it sometimes. Y'know, from the mouth or a split lip or a cheek or something. I guess they must've cleaned it while I was out because I don't remember seeing the blood the next time and unless you clean real well it even sticks to concrete." 

Hannibal didn't say he knew precisely what he meant, because he was an extremely exacting cleaner. What he said was, "Do you feel angry about that?"

Bucky said no. Hannibal believed him, but he suspected he could change that.

"Then sometimes they'd..." Bucky took a hissing breath, during their seventh second. He bared his teeth. "I remember how their semen tasted. And the smell of their shitty cologne and stale cigarettes. They'd push me down and tell me to stay still, or maybe say I should act like I didn't want it but not put up too much of a fight. They laughed a lot. I guess it was funny to them. I guess I was." 

Hannibal didn't tell him how they'd laughed when they'd fed him his sister, but he understood quite viscerally. What he said was, "Have you had sex since you obtained your freedom?"

Bucky said no. Hannibal believed him, but he understood he'd put the thought into his head. 

"One time their boss came in," Bucky said, during their eighth session. "He threw them out and then he fucked me, too. I felt that. He told me to act like I wanted it. And I remember that. Because I felt like I wanted it. Like I _really_ wanted it, just because he told me so. They wiped it out again but I guess he didn't do a great job of cleaning me up because the next time they thawed me out, I guess his come thawed out still in me. And that felt okay." 

"Does it feel _okay_ now?" Hannibal asked. 

Bucky frowned. "I don't know," he said, and Hannibal believed him. His follow-up was, "Have you told Captain Rogers how you feel?"

Bucky's frown deepened further. He gripped at the chair. "How I feel?" he asked, then he laughed rather bitterly. "He's America's sweetheart, Doc, and I'm some ex-HYDRA screw-up. Would you if you were me?" 

Hannibal didn't answer. Conveniently, their time was up. 

"So, I told him," Bucky said, during session number nine. "He was surprised. Pleased, just...surprised."

"Did you sleep with him?" Hannibal asked, just as conversationally as asking for the time, and Bucky winced. 

"I couldn't get it up," he said. "He said it was fine but it's not fine."

"Do you masturbate?"

"Jeez, Doc. Do you talk like this with all your patients?"

Hannibal shrugged lightly. "If their issues are of a sexual nature, yes," he replied. "Do you masturbate, Mr. Barnes?"

"I try sometimes."

"And something holds you back from climax."

"Yeah. I guess."

"What is that?"

"I..." Bucky gripped the chair. His metal hand squeaked against the chair's metal arm and he looked down at it as he spoke again. "I try to think about good stuff. Y'know, making out in the back row of the movie theater, girls I knew during the war, a guy or two. Steve. But I can't get it up without thinking about what they did to me." He frowned. He held his hands palms-up and flexed them. "Is that fucked up?"

"I'm afraid _fucked up_ is not a clinical diagnosis, Mr. Barnes," Hannibal said. "Though personally, I find that memories can be a source of very great strength within ourselves, if we don't deny them." And it seemed that Bucky might have more to say except their time was up again. 

"What am I meant to do?" he asked, during session ten. "I tried again with Steve. Nothing happened down there. So I told him he could just go ahead and fuck me and he looked at me like I'd said he should go jump out the window." He chuckled, lowly and bitterly. "I think he might've actually preferred the window." 

"He's no doubt concerned for your health," Hannibal replied. "Have you attempted masturbation?"

Bucky sighed. He hung his head. "Yeah," he said. "I guess I thought about what you said. And I thought about what HYDRA did. And it was...it was good. It felt good. Do you think I should do that with Steve?"

"I suspect Captain Rogers might find this quite alarming," Hannibal said. "But there are a number of excellent therapists I can recommend if you require...specialist assistance in that area, to guide you through your trauma. They're discreet. Scrupulously professional." 

Bucky frowned at him. "Are you getting rid of me, Doc?" he asked. "Is this too much for you, too?"

"Not at all, Mr.Barnes."

"Then why can't you help?"

Hannibal pressed the pads of his fingers together. He rested his steepled fingertips against his lips, and looked at Bucky; the expression on his face was one that he knew well. He was desperate. He was dependent. He wanted Hannibal to rescue him. 

"We can look into that in our next session," he said, and Bucky's face relaxed into relief that he should not have felt. 

During session eleven, Hannibal struck him across the face with the back of his hand. Bucky vomited in the restroom afterwards, and then apologized profusely.

During session twelve, Hannibal swept his legs from beneath him as Bucky moved towards his seat. when he told him _don't struggle_ , he seemed only too happy to comply. Afterwards, when his hands shook, even the metal one, Hannibal rubbed them firmly in his own until they stopped. 

During session thirteen, Hannibal pushed him down face first over his desk. He pulled down Bucky's jeans, exposed his bare backside, and said, "Prepare yourself for me, Soldier." He watched him use his metal fingers to lubricate his hole, two fingers, three, four, until he was practically gaping. "You've done very well," he told him, once he'd come from it over the office floor, and then he sent him on his way. 

Fourteen: he pushed in deep and came inside him, then sent him home still full up with his semen. Fifteen: Bucky arrived already prepared, but Hannibal had him use his mouth instead, then wash his come from his face in the restroom. Sixteen: he had him strip, and kneel, and told him when he could ejaculate; like a good soldier, he did as he was told. 

"Have you tried again with Captain Rogers?" he asked, during their seventeenth session.

"He doesn't get it," Bucky replied, as he was stretching his anus with Hannibal's cock. "He said maybe I should see a doctor."

"And what did you say, Mr. Barnes?"

Bucky laughed. "I told him I had one," he said, as he lowered himself down into Hannibal's mostly-clothed lap. "But I think maybe I'm not really trying to get better, Doc. I think maybe I'm stuck there in the past. Maybe this is how I'll be forever." He looked back at him over his shoulder, a near-impossible twist to his cervical spine. "Do you think that's my fault?"

"That's precisely why we recontextualize, Mr. Barnes," Hannibal replied, and he ran his hands over Bucky's bare hips to make him shiver with the contact. "So that we can understand what was done to us, and can assign blame to those who are culpable."

"Like HYDRA."

"In this case, yes: HYDRA."

Bucky nodded. He fucked himself on Hannibal's erection, then he stood, and he dressed, and he smiled; the smile was rather tight, but at least made the effort "Thanks, Doc," he said. "I'll see you Wednesday?"

He saw him again on Wednesday. "Now I know who to blame, what do I do with that?" Bucky asked. 

Hannibal placed his hands on Bucky's shoulders. When he ducked his head, Hannibal tilted up his chin. 

"Some would argue that you let it go," he said. 

"Would you?"

Hannibal smiled. "I find that I have difficulty letting go of things."

Bucky nodded. "Me too," he said, then he shifted just a little closer. When he went down on his knees, when he looked up at him, Hannibal knew he understood.

When he saw him again on Saturday morning, Bucky Barnes had blood on his hands in an exceedingly literal manner. Hannibal helped to wash them clean again, then fucked him there in the restroom, firmly, from behind. Their eyes met in the mirror. Bucky bit his lip until it bled. 

"Did you enjoy it, Mr. Barnes?" he asked, when they were finished but while he was still inside him. 

Bucky nodded. Bucky smiled. "I did," he said. "Thank you, Doctor Lecter." 

Their sessions have continued since, and what little remains of HYDRA's numbers dwindle further week by week. Bucky Barnes smiles more now. He kisses his lover, who accepts that his experiences left him impotent, and the fact he's not is the secret he shares only with his therapist.

Bucky Barnes seems better now, and perhaps he'll never know that nothing's changed for him at all. 

Perhaps he'll never know that he likes it because he was told to.


End file.
